Hit the Fan
by valonqar
Summary: Al Potter loves Lyanna Scamander. Lyanna loves Scorpius Malfoy. Scorpius loves no one; and maybe Lyanna .  Albus is kinda taking Lyanna to the Yule Ball. Scorpius is definitely taking Lyanna to the Yule Ball. Life, meet fan. Life, hit fan.  AP/OC/SM


**A/N: A completely silly love triangle that popped into my head!**

**I own nothing but Lyanna, yadda yadda.**

**Review please! xx**

"Well, what do you think?"

He was staring at me. Like, _really_ staring, the kind of creepy stare that makes you feel like you've got some kind of dirt mustache or something on your face, but then you go up there to wipe it off and there's nothing, and you're left wondering what the hell is wrong with them and _why_ they won't take their damn eyes off of your face, and _how_ they can go that long without blinking, because seriously, is that even possible?

I hadn't caught a word he had said, and he was still bloody staring.

"Honestly? I didn't catch a word of any of that. I was too focused on Isabel Longbottom's hair. Have you seen it today? It's bloody _massive!_"

Scor sighed, and did that stupid little eye-rolly thing that he did when he was angry with me. Which, to tell the truth, was ninety nine point nine percent of the time. That was the problem with growing up with someone - you knew all of their faults, and each one pissed you off more than the last. Now, I didn't know what faults he could find in _me_, since I was basically the greatest human being to walk the planet earth, but I knew what faults I could find in him: he was an annoying, over-protective, neurotic, quick-tempered, all-around-arse who I had the absolute displeasure of calling my best friend. And he had the complete honor of calling _me_ his best friend, which was a gift I had given him back when we were eight, and one I still don't think he has fully appreciated.

Well, _I_ called myself his best friend. Scorpius tended to introduce me to people as _"some weird, overly-excited, incredibly gossip-starved, overly-dramatic and ridiculously violent freak who follows me around._" But, you know, technicalities.

"So? Yes or no?"

_Shit_. I had a tendency to do that. Tune out, I mean. It wasn't my fault, really. I blame it all on my mum. You see, she's kinda spacey and stuff, and I think that the real reason I keep a solid train of thought was because I had the DNA of a woman who wore radishes for earrings and whose name was _Luna_. Honestly, it was like I was doomed to be a freak.

"Ehrm, Scor, you're gonna have to start again." Oh, Merlin's pants. His face was starting to turn the same color as his Gryffindor scarf, and I was really quite close to pointing out that it really wasn't an attractive look for him when he turned an stormed off down the hall in an angry huff. I could practically _see_ the steam coming out of his ears. It wasn't like I really wanted to go after him, because Angry Scor was a Scary Scor, but he was my best friend and all. After all, they called me his walking shadow for a reason. If I wasn't beside him, what kind of world would it be?

The good thing about Scor was that no matter how athletic he was, he was still the slowest walker on the face of the universe. Even though he had left a good ten seconds before me, it only took me two to catch up to him, even if those two seconds were an olympic sprint. He didn't look pleased to see me, but then again, he never really looked pleased. Scor was one of those pessimist-type people, although I swore he was a little bit better when he was around me. He didn't like to admit it, but I knew. I _knew_ these things about him. Being a walking shadow taught you more about a person than you might think.

"I'm..._sorry_...okay?" Shit, I was out of shape. Running was not my thing, and certainly not in her damn shoes. Honestly, I didn't get _how_ some women were able to function in eight inch heels. Mine were less than an inch, and I was damn near useless in them. "I just...was a little...distracted before. I...am officially...ready to listen. _Stop!"_ Even at the snails pace Scor moved at, it felt like someone was lighting a torch inside my lungs. But I saw him laughing out of the corner of my eyes, and that was when I knew I was in the clear.

_Success. _I knew he'd come around. He always did, eventually. Poor thing loved me, no way he could stay mad at me for long.

Because of course he loved me. He just didn't know it yet.

"I was asking you about the Yule Ball." Leaning back against the stone wall, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks and gave her a lazy smile, probably the biggest she would ever get from Scor. Getting those smiles was an accomplishment in her own, I knew - girls in any year would _die_ to be on the receiving end of one of them, and I got them every day. _Being a walking shadow has it's benefits, bitches_. "We're in seventh year, Lya, and it's not like either of us have anyone better to go with. Besides, we don't want a Jenny Dunhamm happening again, do we?"

Merlin, he just had to bring up damn Jenny Dunhamm. "I was lonely, okay? I didn't have a date, and you did. It's not my fault I was feeling a little..._codependant_." A little was an understatement, but once again, mere technicality. I couldn't be bothered.

But Scor certainly could. "A little? Lyanna, you didn't leave my side all night. You _stood_ next to us as we danced. Not even _danced_ next to us. You just stood there." He laughed again - second time in a day. I was on _fire_! "But it doesn't matter, because this year it's not going to be weird if you're at my side the whole time. We'll go together, and you'll dance instead of just standing there like last time. That is, if you _can _dance."

"I can dance," I insisted, pouting a little. I could, really. I mean, maybe my kind of dancing wasn't exactly the kind that was considered "cool" or whatever, but it was still dancing. Once again, socially challenged mum equals socially challenged daughter, and dancing was one of those things that I had gotten from the Longbottom side of the family tree. Lorcan and Lysander were both dad - I was the one who ended up with the freak gene. Not that I minded, of course. The freak gene suited me just fine, thank you very much. Scor didn't look as if he believed me in the least, and my pout grew. "I _can_. And I'll go with you, just so I can prove it."

"Perfect." And there it was again, that lazy smile that made my heart skip a few beats and flutter up into my throat. A few seconds later and he sauntered off, but as he left I couldn't help but take one last peek at his arse, because really, was it possible for an arse to be that perfect?

Merlin, life was unfair.

My name is Lyanna Lysa Scamander, I am seventeen years old, best friend and the walking shadow of Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, and I'm completely and totally in love with him.

It was humiliating. Not because I loved him. I mean, if I was embarrassed to love him, why would I love him in the first place? That'd be the most pointless love in the world, and probably not even true love. Not that I believed in true love or anything. That was lame little girl stuff, and I was practically a grown woman, ready to grasp the world in the palm of my hand and do...whatever it was I was planning on doing with my life. Yeah, that part was still a little "tbd", much to the chagrin of my father. _Whatever_. I blamed my inability to do anything on the fact that I had a socially challenged mother, and therefore had been cursed with socially challenged DNA.

The only reason it was humiliating was because _everyone_ knew. Literally, _everyone_ but Scor. And I didn't understand how he couldn't know, because I was almost certain I'd made it pretty damn obvious. Sometimes I batted my eyelashes at him like the girls did in the muggle pictures, and sometimes I chewed my lip and twirled my hair when we were talking in that flirty-like way that girls do on occasion. Because that's a thing, right? One time I even wore a really loose top and bent down _thisclose _to his face so he could see down my shirt and...nothing. Not even the slightest bit of a reaction.

It wasn't because I was ugly or anything. I mean,_ I _didn't think I was ugly. Sure, my hair was kinda the color of a peeled banana, and my eyes took up half of my face. But my hair was long, and had natural curls _way_ nicer than the spells gave some of those other girls (case and point: Isabel Longbottom), and my eyes were a really pretty blue that Albus Potter had once said were the color of the ocean after a storm. I didn't know what the hell that meant, but it was a compliment, right?

Anyways. The completely-complicated-history-of-Lyanna-Scamander-and-Al-Potter shall be saved for another time.

Another time when I had not just been staring at Scor's perfectly chiseled arse.

I could daydream about that arse for hours. I did, usually, and I would have on this occasion, but something snapped me out of my thoughts before I could even picture it in a fitted pair of muggle jeans. It was the giggling of girls, the little twits who were hiding their mouths behind their hands and whispering to one another. Although I could hardly count it as whispering, because I knew they were being intentionally loud so that I would hear what they were saying. _Bitches_.

"Have you heard the news? Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter _both_ think they're taking Lyanna Longbottom to the Yule Ball! It's going to be the battle of the _ages_."

Oh, for the love of pumpkin pasties, I had forgotten about the Al-arrangement.

_Merlin, save me._


End file.
